


The Train Back To London

by eyechateau



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: (jerry seinfeld voice) what is the DEAL with these pining celestial beings?, 6000 Years of Slow Burn, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, Internal Monologue, M/M, Missing Scene, Short & Sweet, because i crave tenderness, hand holding, very little dialogue i am sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-28 15:34:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19397098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyechateau/pseuds/eyechateau
Summary: This has been written dozens of times, but I'm in love with the concept and I wanted to throw my hat into the ring. So uh, what if they had their first kiss on the train back to London after the Armageddidn't? Pure distilled 100% projection.





	The Train Back To London

If you were to ask them what happened in the last few hours, neither of them could’ve explained it to you. Everything that happened was just a bit too _abstract_ , for a lack of a better word. The details of the events left their minds nearly as soon as they had entered. All they knew was that the world was safe. At least for now. They were together, finally, and that granted a great deal of relief just on its own. 

Crowley gives the bus driver a generous tip as they get on, compensation for the confusion he would be experiencing when he somehow winds up in London without realizing it. He does it as discreetly as possible to avoid any praise from Aziraphale, but as they find their seats in the middle of the bus, he receives a knowing, somewhat proud _(ugh)_ smile. Crowley exhales, thwarted. 

_Fucking angels._

Despite the plethora of things to talk about, the Armageddon-That-Wasn’t, for instance, neither of them said anything. There’s nothing to say that the other doesn’t already know. A comfortable silence forms between them. Crowley takes the time to note how pleasantit is. He hadn’t been able to in the past, what with the fear of being caught and executed, but for the time being, they were on their own side. It was a pleasant change of pace, his heart beating slightly faster solely because of the company he was in, rather than have his longing merge quite uncomfortably with fear of torture. 

Slowly, yet somehow suddenly, Aziraphale maneuvers his hand to hover just above Crowley’s, fingertips touching just so. There’s a question posed in his movements. 

The air between them is now thick with tension. 

The touch is electric, despite its simplicity. At first, Crowley melts into it, before he really processes what’s actually going on. His body goes rigid, but his hand doesn’t move. A tiny part of him is dedicated to savoring this. 

He glances at Aziraphale, searching for some sort of explanation, but his angel just stares towards the front of the bus. There’s a bead of sweat on his temple. His eyes don’t dare move. 

Whatever happened to Crowley going too fast for him?

And that’s when it hits him. 

Aziraphale wants him to take the initiative, because _of course he does_. Silly of Crowley to think that any of this would be easy, that he wouldn’t have to meet Aziraphale halfway. A part of him finds it endearing, that Aziraphale is, in a way, asking for consent. The other part of him wishes that he would stop beating around the bush and kiss him _stupid_ already. 

But he could never deny his angel such a simple request. 

Slowly, tentatively, he intertwines their fingers until their hands slit together perfectly, as if his hand was built specifically to fit into Aziraphale’s. The thought of that makes a warmth bloom in his chest. He squeezes his hand for good measure, a small reassurance that _yes he meant to do that_. He hears Aziraphale let out a sigh of relief and he has to fight back a chuckle. He refuses to do anything that could ruin this moment. 

Six _thousand_ years, he’s waited for this. To be able to do something as simple as hold Aziraphale’s hand. He’s fantasized about it often, but never could he have prepared himself for the feeling that spread through him when he felt the warmth of Aziraphale’s palm against his own. And then Aziraphale just _has_ to rub his thumb against the back of Crowley’s hand, because he wants him to die, apparently. 

It takes a moment for him to register that Aziraphale is now looking at him with the most tender expression he’s ever seen. Something tells him that he’s been holding this back for quite some time, waiting for a moment like this to finally express his unfiltered adoration. 

And God- Sa- _Somebody_ , nobody’s ever looked at him like this before. 

He simply can’t help himself, his face moving forward of its own volition to meet Aziraphale’s lips in a kiss that’s 6,000 years in the making. He stays still for at least five seconds before it occurs to him that Aziraphale _isn’t pushing him away_. In fact, his hand has come up to cup Crowley’s sharp jawline, thumb caressing his cheek in such a tender fashion that Crowley feels just the slightest bit dizzy. His hands find their way to Aziraphale’s coat, clutching it like an anchor. All the years of doubt, of yearning, of worrying that his feelings were one-sided are washed away with a single motion, and Crowley feels lighter than ever. 

After what feels like an eternity (but was probably a minute and a half at most), Crowley pulls away, removing his glasses to look at Aziraphale with a fondness in his eyes that he’d be mortified to let anybody else see. But Aziraphale deserves to see it, to see his soft looks of adoration returned. He realizes that over the course of 6,000 years, Aziraphale has slowly broken down his walls, the absolute bastard. Doesn’t he know he has a reputation to keep up?

Crowley is forced to look away when the bus grinds to a halt about a block away from his flat. He stands up and reaches his hand out towards Aziraphale, who grabs it as if it’s already second nature. Crowley’s heart finds a way to melt just a little bit more. 

“Shall we?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed. My tumblr is babeymutual. Thank you so much to my friend Mich for helping me edit this.


End file.
